Bad Influence
by QueenofDiamondss
Summary: Reader insert. AU human names. Alfred has made bad choices with his life and doesn't realize the effect he has on his little brother.


Author Note: This is my first try at reader insert fanfiction. It's kind of sad so you have been forewarned. And also, I have already had most of my friends yell at me for the ending. You can leave me a review and tell me it shouldn't have ended that was, but I can't change it. That is the way it is written and it doesn't work any other way. Please read and leave a review, regardless of if you like it or not. I love feedback!

Disclaimer: I do not own America or Canada or any part of Hetalia. I techinically own the reader character, but that's probably legally arguable so all I can say is that I own this story!

* * *

The door to the back porch slammed. You rose from the kitchen table and roared at the guy stomping up the stairs, "Alfred F. Jones, get your ass back down here!"

The stomping stopped, then reversed and came back down to the base of the stairs. Blue eyes glared down at you. "What?" He snapped coldly. You leaned against the banister, arms folded; determined to get your point across. The normally cool smile was replaced by a serious frown.

"We need to talk, Alfred." You said, barely keeping a level tone of voice. Alfred turned back around and started back up the stairs. "We'll talk later." He tossed casually over his shoulder. "NO!" You yelled, punching the wall hard in frustration.

He kept his back to you and said nothing. You ignored the pain in your hand and came up the steps behind him. "It's about Matthew." You said. Alfred's eyes rolled, "What about him, (Name)? He wasn't in class again?" His tone was annoyed and sarcastic. He didn't even turn to say it to your face. You grabbed his shoulder and forced him to face you. Now both of you were dead serious.

"It's worse than that. You need to stop before he does something dangerous." You said darkly. Alfred's cold blue eyes flickered with anger. "Me? Stop? I though you wanted to talk about Matthew?" The tone was light but the joviality wasn't there. The glare he gave you had sent others running in fear. But you were not backing down from this fight.

"Matthew is your little brother, Alfred. He looks up to you! He acts just like you. And it's getting bad." You explained, biting your lip with worry. He had to know it was a real problem if you got worried enough to mention it like this. Alfred merely quirked an eyebrow, "He's a kid. That's what kids do."

He started turning towards his room again so you jumped around him to the step above him and laid into him, "Alfred, he got a tattoo last week! He's hanging out with Ivan Braginski! The boy skips school to learn to ride a fucking motorcycle! And he gets it from you! You skip class. You have a gang, and you got that god-awful thing on your back the minute it was legal! He's grown up watching you destroy your life and now he's following your example!"

Alfred had spun halfway through your little speech and stormed down towards the kitchen. Building up steam, you followed him, shouting, "Are you hearing me Alfred?" He slammed his hands down on the counter, shouting in frustration, "I hear ya! But Mattie's NOT my problem! I'll kick Braginski's ass for him but the kid's got to take care of himself."

You glared at him over the counter, sighing with your own frustration. "I'm not asking you to take care of him." You said as calmly as possible, "I'm asking you to sit him down and have a talk with him." Alfred shrugged off the words, "Can't you talk to him? He's your best friend, isn't he?"

You crossed your arms defensively. "And you're the only family he's got. Trust me; I've tried talking to him, Alfred. Believe me; Mattie doesn't want to listen to me any more than you want to. Now that Francis is gone, he's got his heart set on being just like you."

"Is that so wrong?" Alfred roared, gripping the counter until his knuckles turned white. "What's wrong with me? Is it that I drink, and I party, and I stay out late? I skip my school and I ride my bike? What is wrong? Tell me now, cause I don't see the problem!"

You let him rage until he stopped. When silence fell over the both of you, hanging thick over the kitchen like a wet blanket of tension, you gave it a moment before breaking in, "I'm not going to tell you how to live your life. But you're an example to him. And he's too young. I don't want him turning out this way. This is how you are, but please, don't let this be how he is."

Alfred was silent. His silence made the tension in the air even thicker. You held yourself quiet, not wanting to say more and push him too far. But it seemed it was too much already. He looked up from the countertop at you and the coldness had returned to his stare. He'd retreated back into his shell. "Mattie's not my problem. Why should I talk to him?"

And on that quiet question, Alfred turned and left the kitchen. You couldn't say a word. His stomps up the staircase shook the house. You sighed, defeated, and put your head in your hands, dropping into a chair. Things had not changed. It was not better than when he'd slammed into the house earlier. And there was no way that that could have gone any worse. It felt hopeless.

* * *

That night, you stood at the side of the highway, blinded by flashing lights and tears, and deafened by the sirens and the roar of your own blood in your ears. You'd stopped by a flower shop when you got the call. You knew what news was on the other end before it was even told to you. And you'd been right to fear the worst.

Drops of rain, like tears from the sky, spotted the wreck before thickening into a light rainfall that misted the lights and blurred the scene. They'd pulled the body out and taken it away an hour ago. Still, you stood in the rain, telling yourself that the tracks on your face were raindrops and not tears. Swearing to yourself that this was not happening. In your hand, a bouquet of white roses dripped raindrops like their own tears.

The rain stopped, just over your head. A police officer stood just behind you with an umbrella. You shook your head when he asked you if you needed anything. You didn't want his help, or his pity. All you wanted or needed was gone now. It was Alfred's fault. And it wasn't fair. The world wasn't fair. Your world was gone.


End file.
